


Elevation

by GhostHost



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Drugs, Optimus is not puttin up with this bs, Slavery, starting a revolution from inside the castle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-10-01
Packaged: 2019-07-23 12:26:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16158956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GhostHost/pseuds/GhostHost
Summary: The newly renamed Optimus Prime was learning there was a lot more to the title than the general public knew.Including that you can give gladiators as gifts.





	Elevation

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fic bribe, by someone who wants to remain anonymous. Their prompt was close enough to a story I had a written a small part of, and they liked it enough to allow me to rewrite it into their story! So thank you for that anon!
> 
> Warnings: Slavery, a tone of class mockery, drugs/drugging, The Twins being given as gifts, Optimus being essentially owned by the Senate. As always if you see something, say something, I'll add something, etc.

Elevation

* * *

 

The newly renamed Optimus Prime was learning there was a lot more to the title than the general public knew. Mostly in the way that the position of Prime was nothing but a figurehead and apparently, his real job consisted of playing centerpiece to the ever changing political scene of Cybertron’s Elite.

Much to everyone’s annoyance, Optimus was fighting it.

In the two months since he’d been selected, a number of “assistants” had descended upon him, and Optimus found any and all attempts to get out of the central government building (“It’s not a palace, silly!” One such assistant had giggled, as if chrome decorations and large glass windows made the place any less of a giant fragging fortress.) thwarted.

His old life was gone, they kept telling him. He was here now. Didn’t he want to help his people? Well he could do that by schmoozing with all the various political giants! And when not schmoozing, his job was to make various public appearances, and assure the public things were going just fine!

Except things were blatantly not “just fine.” They weren’t anywhere close to fine, and the assistants and various senate members seemed unsure of how to handle someone who knew that.

The more Optimus was forced into “lessons” and “coaching session” the more it became obvious that he wasn’t meant to have been chosen--or maybe, hadn’t _expected_ to have been chosen. He still isn’t sure why they seemed to be constantly surprised when he reminded them of his past--reminded them that the Matrix hadn’t magically wiped his memories. He remembered life outside the government, remembered how difficult it had been.

But his questions were talked over. His worries waved away.  

All it did was make his stress build. Being refused to see any of his old friends--but specifically Ratchet-- had forced him to realize he was on his own. Meeting a few other palace mechs put in the idea that he might have friends here- _-if_ he could just get away from his handlers!

He’d already made two attempts, and unfortunately, hadn’t been smooth enough to pull either off.

Optimus knew people were meeting to discuss what to do with him. He knew plans had been sent.

He just didn’t know it’d be something as horrific as this.

“These mechs are drugged.” Optimus wasn’t able to hide the disgust in his voice. He had known that Kaon had problems. Had heard stories of sparklings being purchased for gladiator fights or mechs forcefully used against  their wills, but it was one thing to hear a story and another entirely to _see it._

The mechs presented before him were shined to an absolute polish. One golden, the other red, both striking.  And spark twins, apparently. Those were incredibly rare, and Optimus had to wonder how they had landed in the pits. One would think such a rarity would have been immediately treasured, or studied.

They both looked good--but _wrong._

Instead their optics were glazed over, limbs held numbly at their sides. Their reactions were slow, and it was clear they couldn’t understand a word of what was being spoken.

The ceremonial leashes were tied to glittering collars--Prime had fought hard about this part of the farce. He’d disagreed with the entire thing when he’d learned about it that morning, and only gone along once he’d been forced--but collars? _Leashes?_

Frag tradition.

This was humiliation at its finest. No amount of pretty talk about it being a symbolic gesture that the gladiators used to show they had been “tamed” or were “allowing” him to control them made it any better (because really? Tamed and controlled? No one allowed that. No one should have to!)

Not that Optimus was under the illusions that any mechs would have willingly done something like this. Given themselves over. Become, from Optimus’s understanding, a _pet._ Not without some kind of force or threat behind him.

Or in the case of the twins before him, without being drugged first.

“It will make things go smoother.” The attendant had said, and the others agreed. Prime had been forced to allow it, to both insure his “safety” and to keep peace with the Kaonites. Because if he disagreed with their “present” he might spark a war, and he didn’t want to do _that_ did he? Didn’t he love his people? Didn’t he want to honor their cultures and traditions?

His protests were twisted and used against him. They overlooked his disgust, laughed at his horror. He was just didn’t get it right then, but he’d see, they said. He’d understand.

Besides if the Prime didn’t take the mechs offered to him, the Senate would have to accept on his behalf. They would give the twins to someone who would use them properly, and that had been spoken with enough lust to force Optimus into action.

He’d accept the mechs on their behalf, if only to save them from a worse fate.  

But it didn’t help him handle it any better.

xXx

There were four security guards in his suite. Two for each twin, apparently. Said twins stood, side by side, glowering at everyone and everything--it didn’t escape Optimus that not one of the guards was standing anywhere close to either of them.

“Sir! My Lord Prime you can’t--”

“They are my rooms, are they not?” He asked calmly as he entered, strolling past the first guard.  “Certainly I can.”

“Sir it’s not safe! Let us get it under control.” Another said desperately.

“I think you’ve had your chance for that. Clearly it hasn’t worked.” He raised his voice slightly, projecting it so it could be heard throughout the room. “Thank you for your work, but it’s done now. Please leave.”

No one moved an inch.

“Are you hard of hearing? Shall I speak louder? Get. Out.” His voice never once rose, though the sudden hardness in it startled more than a few of his mechs.

The twins had been the final straw--and in the two weeks since their appearance, Optimus had devoted himself to learning a few tricks of his own.

Including how to use the limited power he held.

“Sir I cannot leave you with them alone. It is not safe.” The head guard who’d been chasing him (Optimus prided himself on remembering names but for once the guard’s was just not coming to him. Surge? Sarge? Something.) looked horrified as the remaining guards broke their perimeter circle.

“What are you doing!?” He yelled, bewildered as they began to slink towards the door. “Get back there! The threat hasn’t been neutralized! The Prime isn’t safe!”

“Oh, I am perfectly safe.” The Prime said, voice mimicking a Tower Noble’s icy dismissal. “You however…”

It was a low blow, but devastatingly effective. The guards filed slowly past the head guard, looking between him and the Prime and apparently deciding which one was wiser to obey.

Sarge (Structure? Servo?) couldn’t get them fired (or worse) after all.  

“If it makes you feel better, you can stay until Ironhide’s arrived.” Optimus added in his normal tone, because the poor mech looked like he was about to glitch out.

Not that he could blame him--the twins had been rather volatile once they’d come down from the drugs. Optimus had refused to allow them to be injected with more, and the result was that the twins had hidden themselves away in his rooms, and hadn’t once interacted with him.

They had already made it known among palace staff that they were not to be disturbed, and considering their significant number of wins in the gladiatorial arena, Optimus couldn’t blame anyone for thinking they’d kill him.

They likely wanted to.

“Ironhide? Who called Ironhide?” The mech nearly shrieked, optics popping wide. The weapons master was equally well known, and old enough to have lasted out the last two Primes. He was a political oddity, a mech who could do almost whatever he liked with no backlash for it (or rather, none that he cared about.)

“I did. He will be here shortly.”

The Twins had turned their glares on Optimus by now, both tensing as he walked forward. A metal bat was lying on the ground, he stooped to pick it up. He wondered where they had got it before promptly deciding it didn’t matter.

“Your names are Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, yes?” He asked them as he looked around the room, admiring their carnage. The tantrum had destroyed most everything--the alien cloths and blankets, the holo-screen, a good portion of the couches and walls. “Most everything” was not “absolutely everything” though and it took him no time at all to spot an intact vase.

He eyed it calmly, not bothered that the twins hadn’t answered him. “I am Optimus Prime.” He said, turning himself so that he lined up with the vase. It was a gorgeous obsidian, streaked with a lightning bolt of precious metals.

The thing probably cost more than the upgrade they’d forced him through.

“Not,” He added, raising the bat and not bothering to see their reaction while doing so, “-that that title means anything.” The bat _whooshed_ through the air, coming down with enough force to shatter the vase on impact. It exploded in a number of directions, making Servo (Sunner?) jump and the twins’ optics widen.

“In fact by all that I’ve seen so far, the Prime is nothing more,” the bat rose and slammed down on the table with a _Wham!_ , “--than a pretty,” _Wham!_ “--public,” _Wham!_ “--figurehead.” _Craaaaack._ The table sagged as it took the last impact, shatter lines running through its surface. Prime wailed on it a bit more, until it broke loudly in two and fell to the floor.

“Unfortunately for everyone involved in this mess,” He spoke calmly, had been speaking calmly, which in retrospect had probably had greatly unnerved the other three mechs in the room, “-the Matrix did not choose me to be a puppet for the senate.” He methodically moved down from the table, optics locking on the next stupidly expensive item in the room (some kind of crystal sculpture, roughly half his size.)

He was more pleased than he really should have been when it too, exploded on impact.

He didn’t know how much time had passed before Ironhide arrived (not much at all at least, the mech didn’t speak up until he was halfway through destroying his fourth art item) nor how long he had stood there, but everyone in the room jumped a bit when he finally spoke.

“If yer gonna destroy a room ya can at least do it right. That form is _awful._ ”  The mech was leaned against the door, having apparently opened and closed it without anyone noticing. The twins, having been lulled into a trance of some sort went tense again. “Get your leg back--there! Like that. There ya go _. Now_ swing.”

Optimus dutifully did as instructed, aiming for a statue half his height.

Ironhide shook his head. “Not like that. More power.”

Optimus swung again, putting another crack into it.

“Swing up!” Ironhide grumbled.

Then; “ _Up!_ ”

The statue finally split in two, the upper half sliding to the floor.

A heavy sigh blasted through the older mech’s vents. “Fer Primus’s sake. Give the bat to one of the kids, wouldja?” Ironhide gestured to the twins, before turning to look at them.

“You two were gladiators. Show him how it's done.”

No one moved for a moment.

Then, slowly, like this whole thing was a trap, Sideswipe took the bat from Optimus and aligned himself with a marble statue. He kept his optics on Optimus, while his twin’s pinned Ironhide.

“Swing!” Ironhide ordered and Sideswipe swung.

The next statue didn’t just crack or shatter--it _exploded._

That got a pleased smile out of Ironhide. “Lookit his stance-see how he holds his body?”

The impromptu training session went on until they ran out of easy things to swing at. Ironhide had Sunstreaker and Sideswipe alternate for a while before having them relinquish the bat back to Optimus.

“Better. That was...better.”He said finally, after Optimus took the head off the last statue.

“High praise, coming from you.” Said mech grumbled, in-between vents. Mostly because that was the only praise he had ever gotten, and he’d been meeting with the mech for regularly for the last two weeks. Much to his assistants utter distress.

“Don’t get snarky.” Ironhide said with a smirk. “It doesn’t suit you.”

“Apologies.” Optimus said but there was a smile back in his voice, body no longer tense. The twins looked better as well, though their fields were tucked too close to their frames for anyone to teek them.

“This doesn’t get you out of training tomorrow.” Ironhide added, pointing one finger at Optimus. He turned to leave, apparently judging the situation handled, but paused before he opened the door out of Optimus’s suite. “And bring them.” He said with a jerk of his head towards the twins.

“Only if they want to.” Optimus responded, rubbing a sore wire in his shoulder.

Ironhide rolled his optics and left.

The door closed, the sound making the twins tense again. Two pairs of optics flipped to him, and Optimus kept his movements slow and measured as he turned to face them.

“I,” he said into the silence, “--finally managed to get a hold of decent high grade. You two are welcome to join me in getting cratered.”

SIdeswipe’s voice was painfully flat. “And if we refuse?”

Optimus shrugged. “You can do as you wish.

“Except leave.” Sunstreaker bit out, harsh and fast. Sideswipe, flicked his field at him, a reprimand almost too fast to feel, but Optimus was paying close attention.

“If you haven’t noticed yet,” Optimus drawled, “--no one here is allowed to leave. Including me.” That last part was blatantly bitter, his field matching both Optimus’s frustration and annoyance at the fact. “In fact I’m still not technically allowed to walk around unescorted yet.”

Something that was growing easier to fix, now that he was partially playing along with the Senate’s wishes. He’d been able to explain away insisting Ironhide teach him self defense classes with the innocent explanation of being able to defend himself against a potential attacker, and though he’d been made fun of for it (in that sickening, “Aren’t you just so cute and dumb!” way his handlers preferred) it was a change from insisting he leave the palace, see old friends, or otherwise try and connect himself to his past life, and thus was allowed.

“And you got away today by…?” Sideswipe trailed off, head tilting, watching him in a way that reminded Optimus of the way the dock’s cat’s used to watch glitch mice.

“Making a poor distraction out of a paint bomb.” A paint bomb being a long beloved prank of the working class, and it had splattered spectacularly across everyone’s plating. Even better, Optimus hadn’t been accused of planting it (now that he’d been paying attention to the social structures flowing around him, he wasn’t certain anyone could accuse him of any such thing, whether he blatantly did it or not) It had caused everyone to scatter in a hurry, and in the resulting panic about paint jobs, he’d managed to slip away.

Sunstreaker snorted through his vents. It was an awful, ugly sound, but it was non-threatening and Optimus would take what he could get.

“What’s your idea of good high grade?” The yellow twin sneered, arms crossing over his chest, abruptly changing the subject.

Optimus took it as a positive sign.

“Blurr’s Brew.” Optimus replied, naming off a widely popular high grade that had been named after the famous racer. He’d had to bribe someone in the kitchen to sneak it in, instead of that overpriced crystal-wine that everyone else preferred. “If you don’t mind, it’s calling my name.”

He made his way past the twins, queuing the door to the living room area to open. He didn’t bother to check to see if the twins were following, didn’t honestly care if they did. He hoped they did--he hoped they could be allies, perhaps even friends. He was all too aware of the divide between their positions though, and how that would effect how the twins saw him.

He strode straight to his growing stash of contraband's, fishing out the required high grade. He wasn’t exactly surprised to see the twins when he turned around, but he was surprised with both how quietly and how quickly they had moved.

“Want some?” He offered, holding out the bottle.

Neither responded.

Optimus poured them each a cube anyway.

He moved to sit on the couch--a fluffy, overpriced thing that crouched in front of an expensive low slung table. The twins slunk to the couch on the other side, and for a moment the quiet tension returned, as if all Optimus had said in the other (useless, waste of space) room had never happened.

Nothing to be done for that except talk more, the Prime supposed.

He took a big drink, than another, then launched his question.

“May I ask you both something?” He asked, expecting the answer to be no.

They surprised him in that he got no answer at all. Undeterred, he braved on; “You broke nearly everything in that room--except for most of the art.” Art that he’d gone on to destroy. “I assume it was on purpose-there were far easier targets than the couches. So why leave them?”

“Sunny likes art.” Sideswipe said, only to be elbowed hard by his brother.

“Ah.” Optimus replied, then turned his body so he spoke directly to the yellow twin. “My apologies for destroying it then.”

“It’s your art. You can do whatever you want with it.” Sunstreaker responded, sullenly. Unspoken was the fact that _they_ were also his, and subject to his whims as much as the art was.

“Just because I am the apparent owner of it doesn’t give me license to destroy it.” Optimus  gently corrected. “Especially when others enjoyed it.”

“Then it shouldn’t be kept in a private room.” That was spoken much harsher, Sunstreaker’s optic narrowed in abrupt fury. “It should belong to _everyone.”_

Sideswipe went to elbow his twin again, but found himself blocked. Sunstreaker’s optics were locked onto the Prime’s, and slowly, almost fearfully, Sideswipe also turned to stare. His gaze though looked...not scared, but weary. As though he expected his twins outburst to harm them both.  

With a start, Optimus realized that in the past, it likely had.

“You’re right.” He agreed, voice purposefully quiet. It seemed to briefly dumbfound both twins. As did his request of; “What do you suggest?”

Sideswipe cut a look to his twin--almost as if giving a plea-- and was blatantly ignored.

“For it to be displayed in a  museum.” The yellow mech answered immediately. “For _everyone,_ not just the upper class.”

‘I agree.” Optimus said. He leaned forward, propping up a hand under his chin. “A public museum is a good place to start, even.”

“To start?” And he wasn’t even sure which one said that, he was too lost in thought.

“Building my public image so I can wrest it away from the Senate.”

Big words. A big proclamation even--but Optimus didn’t have a lot of choices left.

Sideswipe raised a brow-plate. “They own your public image?”

Optimus nodded, the high grade making it easier to speak the truth. “They own me, now. But I’m going to change that.” The conviction he spoke surprised even him, but he saw the way it struck the twins. Both looked at him in a slightly different way, surprise quickly covered in their fields.

“I’m going to do something for the people.” Optimus continued, and let the conviction ring out of his voice. “For this planet. If I have to topple them to do it well,” He leaned back, took the last sip left of his high grade. “--then so be it.”

“Mech you need more help than you know if you’re gonna try and take the Senate.” Sideswipe said partly in disbelief, mostly dismissively. But he picked up the cube of high grade he’d been ignoring, took a swig of it. His twin followed.

Optimus didn’t bother to hide his smile.

“I will gladly take all the help I can get.” He replied.

He got two doubtful, looks in response--but no one left the table.

It was a good a start as any to a revolt.

  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
